


the miracle of living

by synchronicities



Series: the ultimate empathy machine [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Mirror Fusion, Disabled Character, Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 05:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: It’s always summer in Santa Lucia, and Lexa Birch is new in town.San Junipero AU.





	the miracle of living

**Author's Note:**

> Black Mirror Episode 3x04 San Junipero spoilers, obviously.
> 
> This has probably been done before, but I’ve literally never written Clexa. However, I did write a Bellarke AU of Hang the DJ, so as an avowed “oh my god, Black Mirror is depressing and I love happy endings” kind of person, I willed this rushed, barely edited fic into existence.
> 
> I don’t know how this tag views B/C generally, so be warned that they are important here because Clarke plays the Kelly role in this fic.
> 
> Title from [uh what Else](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOGEyBeoBGM), catch me jamming to Ms. Brenda Carlisle in 2019

There’s a woman that Lexa keeps catching in the corner of her eye.

Grounders is loud and cramped and sweaty, but Lexa finds herself chasing the same pink-tinged blonde bob, the same wicked grin, the same cuffed leather jacket. She catches the woman’s eye a few times, too, and she doesn’t think she’s imagining the glint of interest in her eyes either.

And then she slides into Lexa’s booth.

“Hi,” the woman says. She’s prettier in person, all piercing blue eyes, sharp smile, and curves for days. Lexa suddenly doesn’t know where to look. “I need to sit here for a bit.”

Before Lexa can protest a guy comes up to the table. He’s pleasant-faced enough, dark hair falling into his eyes, but the woman’s frowning up at him, so Lexa puts on a cold expression in solidarity. “Clarke, please,” he’s saying. “It’s been _years_ , can we just–”

“Good night, Finn,” the woman – Clarke – replies with finality. She glances at Lexa meaningfully. “This is my college friend. We’re catching up, if you don’t mind.”

She gets the cue. “Lexa,” she says coolly, pointedly not offering her hand.

Finn looks between them, huffs, and shuffles away. Lexa blinks after him, then at Clarke.

Clarke laughs, a lot less tense than she’d been when Finn had first approached and relaxes into the booth seat. “Thank you for that. Apparently, you can run into asshole exes even in Santa Lucia.” She gives Lexa a once-over. “Haven’t seen you around here. First time?”

A genuine smile creeps onto Lexa’s lips, and she flushes. “That obvious?”

Clarke’s features soften, and she leans forward. “You stick out like a sore thumb,” she says, her smile crooked. “You need to relax.”

“I can’t help it,” Lexa says, defensive. “It’s…difficult to get used to. I, uh, didn’t go out a lot.”

Her new friend nods understandingly and then stands. “C’mon.”

A little dumbfounded, Lexa follows her outside. Clarke’s leaning against the brick wall of Grounders, her arms crossed and her smile the right amount of challenging. She’s very pretty, and her eyes are really blue. “I’m Clarke. Where are you from?”

“Lexa,” she says. “New York.”

“I’m a California girl, myself,” Clarke says, shrugging one shoulder. “So I guess Santa Lucia’s more my area.”

“You come here a lot?” Lexa asks.

“Every weekend,” Clarke replies. “It’s a nice respite, isn’t it?”

Lexa nods. For all Santa Lucia is overwhelming, she can immediately see the appeal – the town is _pleasant_ , for lack of a stronger description. Grounders is one of a loud strip of bars and pleasure establishments along the coast, but the majority Santa Lucia itself is a lovely, quiet gem, nestled in between gentle waves.

“I think I could grow to love it here a lot,” Lexa admits.

Clarke grins. “You will.”

They stand in silence for a little while, Lexa stealing glances at Clarke under the harsh lamplight. “You’re looking a little better,” Clarke eventually says. Her voice is kind. “Wanna go back in?”

This time, Lexa isn’t quite as able to rein in her smile. “Yeah.”

* * *

“Good morning, Lexa.” Gustus is peering down at her. “How was your first visit?”

“It was good.” She coughs. “Can you help me sit up?”

He does, pressing a button so her bed lifts and she can push herself up. She still feels a little out of it. “Do you want the chair today?”

Lexa quiets. Gustus’s brow furrows; he’s waiting for her answer. “Not today, Gustus,” she murmurs. Moving in Santa Lucia – ten fully functioning fingers and toes, feet planted firmly on the ground, had been startling. She’s not sure what the wheelchair will feel like after that.

“I made a friend,” she admits, more to herself than to Gustus. But he’s always been exceedingly attentive and patient with her, and nods accommodatingly.

“That’s good. What were they like?”

“Her name was Clarke,” she says. “From California. Helped me get used to it. We had fun.”

Gustus nods again. “I see. I hope you’ll meet her again.”

There’s the smile again, the one that she’s not able to stop around Clarke. “Me too.”

* * *

Clarke is there the next weekend, too – same bar, same time, same style of dress. This time, the streak of hair is green instead of pink. She smiles appreciatively when Lexa approaches her. “Wow, Lexa. You look great.”

“Thank you, so do you.” Lexa ducks her head. She had tried to feel more like herself this time – the dark eyeshadow, black dress, and high boots she had selected are comfortable and make her feel more at ease. Grounders is less intimidating this time around, now that she’d gotten used to it this week. All in all, she feels fairly confident, and spurs herself enough ask, “Can I get you a drink, Clarke Griffin?”

She’s cringing at how awkward it might have sounded when Clarke smirks. “You may. Tequila sunrise, please.”

Lexa gets a whiskey neat, and they watch the thrumming dance floor as they sip their drinks in silence until Clarke leans over. “How’s the town treating you this week?” she asks over the roar of the crowd.

“Better,” Lexa almost yells. “The journey’s less jarring.”

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Clarke replies. She knocks back her drink before turning back to Lexa. “Want to dance?”

The club is playing something old and poppy that Lexa barely recognizes, but Clarke tugs her along to the dance floor and suddenly they’re dancing, Lexa half making jerky movements, half watching Clarke move. She’s beautiful, all flushed and sweaty and energetic, and Lexa can’t stop herself from crowding into her space.

There’s a long moment where they stare at each other, Clarke’s face flashing yellow, pink, blue in the club lights.

And then Clarke kisses her, a soft press of lips that Lexa is quick to deepen, tongue dancing along the seam of Clarke’s lips, chasing the orange taste of her mouth. Suddenly it’s all teeth and hands and _tongue_ , and the feeling of Clarke’s warm body pressed up against hers chest to chest and the bright lights and loud music, and Lexa feels a little lightheaded. 

“I know this is a bar in Santa Lucia, but we could probably be more discreet,” Clarke says when she pulls away. She’s looking a little dazed, and Lexa feels proud.

“I have a place,” she replies, emboldened. “We can get out of here.”

“You already have a house here?” Clarke looks impressed. “High roller.”

“Lucky you,” Lexa teases.

Lexa’s gotten a charming beach house a couple of blocks from _Grounders_ and right in front of the beach, and the two of them practically race there on foot, crashing into each other as soon as they arrive, losing clothes slowly as they make their way towards the bed.

When they’re both satisfied, Clarke rolls away from Lexa and stretches. “I’ve got twenty minutes left today,” she says into the dark.

“That’s twenty minutes you can spend cuddling in bed with me,” Lexa says.

She thinks she sees the glint of Clarke’s smile in the dark. “A woman after my own heart,” she says, and rolls back towards her, easily slotting herself beside Lexa’s body.

Twenty minutes later Clarke promises to see her next week and blinks out. Lexa is left in the empty bed.

* * *

“Good morning, Lexa. How was this visit?”

Lexa smiles at Gustus this time. She’s in a good mood. “It was lovely. Santa Lucia is really starting to grow on me.”

Gustus eyes her. Lexa wonders if he’s going to warn her about all the people who get too attached to Santa Lucia and start craving more time in the town than they’re allowed to have while they’re alive. VR sickness, they call it.

But he doesn’t. Instead, while he sets up her breakfast, he says, “I’ve always been curious about the simulation. How real does it feel?”

“Very real,” Lexa says. She thinks of the muggy sea breeze, the feeling of salt in her hair, the sweet burn of alcohol, Clarke’s grin in the dark. “Like it’s actually something I could have lived out.”

Gustus hums noncommittally. “Would you like the wheelchair today?”

“No,” Lexa says. “Not today.”

* * *

Sometimes, Lexa thinks that Clarke barely seems real, and has to remind herself that nothing in Santa Lucia is technically real anyway. But this weekend, Clarke looks a little younger than how Lexa’s come to know her – hair a little longer and without that shock of color, face a little less sharp, her clothes a simple Henley and jeans. It’s a reminder of how fleeting and artificial everything is in Santa Lucia, and for all that Lexa enjoys Clarke’s company, she doesn’t really know who Clarke _is_.

So she asks. They’re watching the ocean on a mat on Lexa’s beachfront, legs intertwined and Clarke curled into her, fingers dancing up and down Lexa’s side.

“You look younger today,” Lexa says out of the blue.

She sighs. “You noticed,” she murmurs.

Lexa tries not to say how she’s committed every detail of Clarke’s lovely face to memory. “The hair gave it away.”

“Subconscious choice, I guess.”

“Are you remembering anything in particular?” Lexa asks. She’s heard about how one’s appearance in Santa Lucia is largely how they remember themselves, and for people their age, that image is ever-wavering. She barely looks at her own face; she doesn’t think she’d be able to tell if she changed.

Clarke hums into Lexa’s collarbone. “I hope you won’t think badly of me.”

“No. Never.”

“I was married for a long time,” Clarke says finally. Her eyes are distant and her voice is so soft, Lexa almost feels like she’s sharing this secret with both her and the sea.

“Was it that guy the first day? Finn?”

Clarke laughs, and the light sound seems to rise above them before the winds carry it away. “No, not Finn, thank god.” She sobers. “His name was Bellamy, and we were together for almost fifty years. He would have been seventy-eight today.” Clarke pauses before continuing. “I don’t know – I might have looked like this when we first met.”

Envy curls in Lexa’s gut, and she isn’t sure for what – Clarke getting to go out in the world, Clarke’s decades of happiness, the image of Clarke reaching out to kiss someone who isn’t her. But then a wave of shame overtakes it as she watches Clarke stare at the ocean wistfully. She deserved to be happy, just as Lexa knows she deserved to live and love. She pushes the feelings down and wills her throat to work. “Did you have kids?”

Clarke smiles and looks down. “We adopted a little girl. Madeline. A smart, spunky, precious soul. You would have loved her.” She quiets again, and she must pick up on the question in Lexa’s silence. “They’re not here,” she adds. “Madi died before they got Santa Lucia up and running. Bell didn’t want to be uploaded to here without her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Clarke says, and for the first time since arriving in Santa Lucia, Lexa really feels how old they both are. “It’s just life. Had its ups and downs, but now I’m just grateful, really.” She smiles at Lexa. “And I have you here.”

“You do.” Lexa pulls her closer. “I feel like I have to share my life story, too,” she adds, laughing a little despite herself. It’s an odd, light feeling, laughing about her life, but being with Clarke makes it easy.

Clarke inclines her head and smiles a little. “You don’t have to. I get the feeling you’re not a sharer, Lexa.”

 _I want to share everything with you_ , Lexa thinks traitorously. “You really don’t want to hear about why the last person I liked was in college?”

“ _College_?” Clarke pulls away to look at her incredulously. “Okay, now I feel like I have to ask.”

Lexa sighs. Inhales. Swallows.

Clarke picks up on it. “You really don’t have to tell me,” she says, and Lexa feels a surge of affection.

“No, I want to,” Lexa says, intertwining their hands. “I want you to know.”

Clarke brings their joined hands to her lips and places a soft kiss on Lexa’s knuckles. “Okay. When you’re ready.”

“I never told you my last name,” Lexa says. “It’s Birch.”

Clarke’s brow furrows and she stares at Lexa until recognition dawns. “Holy shit, you’re Alexandra Birch.”

“What a story, right?” Lexa pulls her hand away to clasp her own hands in her lap. “New York tycoon family scion, shoe-in for governor, tragically shot by her crazy uncle and embroiled in medical complications for years while her family fell further from grace, effectively ending her career in government and leaving her paraplegic and working in an office job she hated until retirement. I was fielding calls from biographers left and right.”

Clarke is silent, only throwing an arm around her, and only then does Lexa realize how much she’s stiffened. It’s stupid. As old as she is, recounting it shouldn’t be a problem.

But then Clarke says, “Everyone knows that story. I want to know _you_.” She presses a kiss to Lexa’s shoulder. “Tell me about the person you liked in college.”

Lexa bites back a smile. “Her name was Costia. She was a European Languages major in the same year as me. We were in the same history class, and she was memorable because she was always advocating for something, and always picking a fight with the professor. I admired her a lot.”

Clarke hums. “She sounds lovely. Tell me more.”

And Lexa finds that it’s easy to do so. They talk for a very long time.

* * *

“Good morning, Lexa. You have a visitor today.”

Lexa blinks. “Now?”

Gustus shakes his head. “In a couple hours. We got a call that a Mrs. Griffin-Blake would be coming to visit you specifically. Do you want me to call someone to get you dressed?”

 _Clarke_.

Lexa nods. Gustus calls Niylah to help get Lexa into an outfit acceptable for receiving company, and her chair is positioned by the window by the time the car pulls up.

She’s still not prepared for the woman who steps out, hair shorn short and accompanied by a man. Lexa squints at the approaching figures until they enter the building, and then her gaze is directed to her door, wide and alert.

Eventually, it opens.

“Lexa,” Gustus says. “This is Clarke Griffin-Blake.”

“Hello, Lexa.”

Her voice is softer, raspier, than Lexa thought it would be. Lexa moves to meet Clarke’s gaze and takes her in, _really her_ , for the first time. There are wrinkles lining her face, her hair is short and silver, and she’s much skinnier than she appeared in Santa Lucia. But the crooked smile, the twinkle in her eye when she looks at Lexa – she thinks that’s still the same.

She’s beautiful. “Hi, Clarke.”

Clarke’s gaze snaps away from hers, and Lexa realizes she must have been taking in her appearance, too. The man who came with Clarke introduces himself as her son-in-law Richard and bows out with Gustus in tow, leaving the two of them alone in Lexa’s room.

Lexa still can’t stop looking at her.

Clarke slowly walks over to Lexa before sitting down in the second chair by the window. “It’s so good to finally see you.”

“You too. I like the hair.”

That makes Clarke snort a little, and it’s a gesture so familiar that Lexa chuckles. The awkwardness is broken. Clarke talks about the journey, her grandson, how nice the center seems, and asks Lexa questions about her own life. Lexa can’t do much more than hang on to every word. They talk for what seems like hours – although it can’t have been even one.

Finally, Gustus and Richard come back; the latter apologetic, and Lexa knows that their time is up.

“I live three hours away,” Clarke says, taking Lexa’s hand in hers. The sight of it – their two frail, wrinkly hands clasped together – draws Lexa’s sight. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit you. Especially with my diagnosis.”

“It would be difficult for me, too,” Lexa jokes. It doesn’t land – Clarke only looks sad. “It’s all right, Clarke. I know where to find you.”

Clarke smiles briefly. She leans over and presses her lips to Lexa’s, dry and soft.

When she leaves, Lexa misses the taste of oranges.

* * *

She sees Clarke for five hours every weekend, as is legally prescribed. Mostly, they meet at Grounders before heading off to wherever. Sometimes, they explore the town, go to little galleries or cafes or surf shops. Clarke grew up in warm Southern California, and her delight for the sun, sand, and sea is always infectious – she’s always the one tugging Lexa into the water, or pulling her up to a lookout point. Always, they end up crashing into one another, learning each other’s bodies and moving to the sound of ocean waves.

The whole thing always makes Lexa nostalgic afterwards. In another life, she thinks she could be this person, this pretty girl unburdened by politics and gunshots and hospitals. She hadn’t realized how embittered she’d inadvertently become – in another life, she could have grown up on a California beach, met Clarke Griffin at university, and they could’ve danced like this in a real club.

The decision is easy.

“I’m committing to Santa Lucia after I pass,” Lexa admits during one glorious sun-drenched afternoon in her beach house’s generous bed. She doesn’t miss how Clarke stiffens. “I’m going to be a full-timer. You don’t have to,” she adds, placating. “But I want you to.”

“It’s not in the plan,” Clarke replies, her voice brittle. “I told you. I don’t want to leave my husband and daughter.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving them, technically,” Lexa tries. “Part of you would just be…here.”

“It’s the part that matters, though, isn’t it?” Clarke rolls away and doesn’t look at her. “Staying in Santa Lucia, young and happy forever…it doesn’t feel right, if they’re just…gone.”

Lexa reaches for Clarke. “If I’m being honest, I don’t see a downside.”

She knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave her mouth. Clarke jerks away and sits up. “Take that back, Lexa,” she says, her tone completely neutral.

But the more Lexa thinks about it, the more she doesn’t want to. Life has never been kind to her, hasn’t given her the joy and freedom her hours in Santa Lucia have. In Santa Lucia, she isn’t Alexandra Birch, groomed for success in politics only to crash and burn and languish in an old folks’ home; she’s _Lexa_ , young and pretty and limitless as the ocean on the shore.

So she doesn’t say anything at all.

“Please.” Clarke’s wavering. “Please understand. I don’t know if there really is an afterlife, but whatever it is has to be more real than here.”

This makes Lexa frown and sit up. “Clarke, this is the most real I’ve felt in _years_.”

“Santa Lucia isn’t _real_ , Lexa. All of this–” Clarke waves a hand. “It’s an escapist simulation. No pain, no problems. It’s not _life_.”

“What, we aren’t real? Is that what you’re saying?”

Clarke is glaring at her. “That’s not what I said.”

Lexa glares right back, ignoring the ache in her chest that comes from arguing with Clarke, and letting her frustration rise. “It’s what you _meant_ , Clarke. You don’t get it – staying here, instead of opting out for the real world? What’s holding you back– _love_ –”

“Love? You think my love is holding me back?” Clarke spits. “You think love made my marriage, my family, _weak_? You just don’t know what it’s _like_ , Lexa, to love someone and be _stronger_ for it.”

Tears burn in Lexa’s eyes. “I do,” she blurts out before she can stop herself. “I love _you_.”

To her horror, Clarke thins her lips and draws herself up, the fire in her eyes dimming and giving way to icy steel. “Then you’re being a hypocrite by playing that card just to keep me with you,” she murmurs, turning on her heel. “Goodbye, Lexa.”

The door shuts quietly, and Lexa hears the soft _ding_ of someone exiting. She lays on the bed until her hours run out.

Clarke isn’t there the next week, or the next. The first two weeks, Lexa goes to Grounders and fucks a girl who looks a little like Costia did in college. The next week, she drives up and down the coast, her foot constantly on the gas, and almost crashes the car.

Then she starts thinking of people who lose themselves to Santa Lucia, who become empty shells who chase nothing but the sea and the sex.

Eventually, she stops coming, too.

* * *

Lexa reads the obituary a month later.

Clarke A. Griffin-Blake, revolutionary pediatrician, lost her battle with cancer on October 21st. She was 73, and survived by one Isaac Richards, her grandson from her adopted daughter. Lexa reads everything she can about the Griffin-Blakes, and then cries until she can’t.

She goes to visit the grave. It’s in a picturesque cemetery, and the smooth new stone with Clarke’s name on it is sandwiched in between her husband and daughter’s.

 _I don’t like thinking of it;_ Clarke had told her once. _It’s too clean. Doesn’t feel like me. But we got the plot a long time ago, and Bell and Madi are there, so I guess it is_ me _, too, in a way._

She thinks of Clarke’s smile, her wit, the way her fingers had run over Lexa’s body, both ways her lips had felt. Do her memories of Clarke, virtual reality as they were, embody her, too? Lexa finds that she still doesn’t know.

She hands the bouquet in her arms to Gustus, who puts it on top of the plot, and wheels herself away. She doesn’t say goodbye.

* * *

Alexandra Birch spends the next month thinking and making some calls to ALIE, the company who runs Santa Lucia. She revises her will. Part of her considerable wealth will still go to her nieces and nephews, but she wills some to the hospital Clarke worked at, some to the school Clarke’s grandson teaches at, and diverts most of it to charity. It’s not enough, but she hopes it will help.

She passes away on February 4th, surrounded by her nieces, nephews, and the staff at the center.

That same minute, Lexa arrives at her Santa Lucia beach house, wheeling herself up the ramp to the front door. When she sees Clarke inside, dressed in a simple sundress and sandals, she’s sure she’s hallucinating. She must not actually be dead; this is some intermediate virtual waiting room.

Clarke’s eyes widen when she sees her, and the two of them stare at each other for a long while.

“You’re in the wheelchair,” Clarke finally blurts out.

“You decided to be a full-timer,” Lexa realizes. “You’re here for good.”

“Yeah.” Clarke’s still standing a little way from her, arms crossed and face uncertain. “Lexa, I–”

“I thought a lot about what you said,” Lexa interrupts. “About this being painless, with no problems. And you were right that it wasn’t real. If I was going to live here, I was going to be me. Warts and all.” She gestures to the chair.

There’s a smile playing at the edges of Clarke’s lips. “Wheelchair and all.” She looks back at Lexa. “I’m sorry for what I said about your loving. That was out of line.”

Lexa fiddles with her fingers. “No, I’m sorry for putting your plan down. You were right – I didn’t get it. I could never speak for the life you lived,” Lexa says, daring to look at Clarke. She squares her shoulders. “But I wasn’t lying when I said loving you made me a stronger person.” 

“I’m glad.” Clarke huffs. “I don’t know if it’s real,” she says, her smile shaky. “But I know that I am happy here, with you. And I deserve that. And so do you.” She takes a step towards Lexa. “If you’ll have me.”

It’s the easiest thing. “I will. I do.”

Clarke lets out a sound that might have been a sob and rushes towards her, capturing Lexa’s mouth with hers and lowering herself to crouch on the ground so their mouths are level. It’s a lot like their first kiss down at Grounders, frantic pushing and pulling; at one point, Clarke bangs her elbow on the chair, and Lexa pulls away briefly to laugh. But then Lexa gentles her movements, and their mouths meld together slowly and sweetly. This time, Clarke tastes like mint.

Clarke pulls away first, her smile blinding, and Lexa sees her own awed, happy face reflected in the light in her eyes.

If this is what forever looks like, she thinks they'll do fine.

**Author's Note:**

> My great regret is that I can’t visually blast Heaven is a Place on Earth over this ending.
> 
> OK so I am a fluff writer and obviously this is a lot more unambiguously happy than the actual San Junipero episode (which is happy by BM standards, obviously, but still has some fridge logic that makes you go hmm). I am not disabled myself, so please feel free to constructively criticize. Also, Lexa has a house because I imagined it is also sort of like the Sims, where if you’re loaded you can make your virtual afterlife just that much more comfortable. It’s Black Mirror, of course capitalism remains even in brain uploading. 
> 
> Thank you ALIE for giving me a convenient way to stick the 100 characters into Black Mirror episodes about virtual reality-assisted romance. The town is named “Santa Lucia” as a nod to both San Junipero and the City of Light. 
> 
> Leave feedback, please! As I said above, this is my first time writing C/L, so I'm really not sure how well I have the dynamic down.


End file.
